


Tacit Boundaries

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 703-4 OV, Balfonheim, F/M, Jealousy, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-28
Updated: 2007-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balthier knows that no one knows men like Fran does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tacit Boundaries

Arms crossed, Fran stood inscrutable in the tiny view-crystal that Balthier held; her little friend, by contrast, gestured wildly. Balthier didn't need the crystal's muted, tinny sound to hear that the man's florid plea concerned Fran staying 'this time'. It echoed up to the command deck through the Strahl's open gangway.

He'd hoped for an early morning launch, while the traffic was thin, but in Balfonheim, that could mean any time before noon. There was no hurry, now that Fran had proved late instead of absent, aside from his own impatience to have sky beneath him once more. The early hour also meant that the aerodrome floor was empty. They weren't yet drawing attention.

Fran's friend put far too much faith in his words for someone who worked with his hands, and was too well-washed, besides. Balthier judged him too eloquent for military-- merchant, perhaps, to share a seeq's opinion of portable wealth (the more, the better)? He was certainly not another pirate, who would know that what happened in port, stayed in port. He seemed disappointingly ordinary to Balthier: hume, medium build, shorter than Fran (who wasn't?) but not short, a Rozarrian stain over his skin to match the accent growing thicker with his desolation. He was Balthier's father's age, showing it particularly around the middle. That was atypical compared to the scant few of her conquests Balthier had seen-- but even moreso was Fran letting this man trail her to the Strahl like a tame wolf pup. What next; a formal introduction? He hoped not.

Fran was a mystery in many respects, and no less in this. She either shadowed Balthier in port, or simply vanished until their agreed-upon departure time. He must have spotted her only half a dozen times over their three years, in taverns, dance halls, promenades. Each time, it was still a surprise that she spent their separate shore leave with aims so similar to his own; each time, he left without making contact, without ever mentioning that he had seen her. She seemed a different creature in those places with those other men, dressed within the hume sense of modesty: short, light dresses that covered just enough to tease, even to Balthier's eyes that regularly saw so much more of her skin. Perhaps they liked her beauty, her exoticness, and took her silent attention as a hume woman's flattery not a viera's curiosity. The Fran Balthier knew only became visible when the company proved himself not to her liking; she'd never needed the assistance he had on occasion lingered to offer.

But was this what she liked? Señor Embroidered-Bootlaces had gone well to seed now, but if they had known each other of old-- well, he might not have been so bad, then. Balthier had never seen her with the same man twice, among those scattered, chance sightings, and he couldn't think of the last time she had requested stopping in any particular port. However, the man below still held her attention, which he wouldn't, surely, if Fran did not wish it to be so.

Balthier raised an eyebrow when the other man (a merchant; he was right) began listing assets so compelling Balthier might almost have been tempted to become his mistress himself. He also said that his wife was dead, which Balthier gathered by implication might not have been the case the 'last time', whenever that had been. Fran's replies, if she was making any, were too quiet for Balthier to hear, even with the crystal pressed against his ear. Regardless, letting her fight her own battles was one of the first tests for a hume who wished to partner with a viera, or rather a Fran.

Hearing the clatter of her stilettos shift in timbre from the gangway to the lower deck, Balthier quickly dropped the view-crystal into his pocket and swivelled his chair to face fore, raising the steps behind her. He radioed aerodrome control to let them know the Strahl was finally ready to depart.

"Where do we go?" Fran asked, settling beside him into her navigator's chair. She had changed from the floaty yellow thing back into her armour on the lower deck. Pity.

There was nothing but the edge of the world to the east, and north was out of the question. West, but not too far west, was usually a lovely proposition, but he'd heard rumours of Rozarrian troops as near as Nabradia's Salikawood. If so, that was a powder keg he wanted to be well away from.

"Oh, I hear Bancour's lovely this time of year."


End file.
